My mom had this weird hippie sex book. It was always just sitting on the bookshelf in our living room, right there alongside the Dave Barry and Noam Chomsky and Charles Dickens and Jane Austen books.

I flipped through it when I was really young once. There were goofy drawings of genitals and people in all kinds of sex positions and ****. With explicit descriptions of what happens when two people get hory and start banging.

There was a chapter about sexual orientations. The heading "heterosexual" had a drawing of a man and woman naked in a bed. The heading "homosexual" had a drawing of two women naked in a bed. The heading "bisexual" had a drawing of two women and a guy naked in a bed. The heading "bestiality" had a drawing of a woman and a dog in a bed, as if it was just as normal and healthy as any of the other relationships. I wish I was making this up.

I remember getting incredibly grossed out and wondering why my mom had this book.

My therapist will be going on maternity leave starting in april. I don't know if I should take a break from therapy or see someone else for a few months while she's gone. I'd like to see someone else but I don't want to have to go through my life story again to a new person.

I'm going to start taking seroquel today for sleep. I haven't slept normally for a few weeks. The weirdest thing is I don't feel sleep deprived even though I know I am. I think the lexapro messes with my body in such a way that my body can't tell when it needs sleep.

I typed up a resume this weekend, will start looking for jobs now. I'm kinda running out of money lol.

People my age or younger will probably know Paul Mooney as the Negrodamus character on Chappelle's Show. Older folks may nkow him for being Richard Pryor's BFF.

This was an interesting book about the early days of stand up comedy in LA in the 70s and 80s, and there's a lot about Pryor. Mooney has an unfortunate tendency to see absolutely everything as a racial conflict.

Sports Gene by David Epstein

Really cool book which attempts to answer the question: How much do genetics have to do with athletic greatness? The book starts off by debunking the "10,000 hour rule" spouted by charlatans such as Malcolm Gladwell.

Then it goes into various sports, especially long distance running, and tries to identify what made the GOATs of those sports better than everyone else.

The Sports Gene sounds interesting, not sure if Gladwell is a "charlatan" though. Never read his book but I was under the impression that only a small portion had to do with sports. Obviously with some things, like sports, the 10,000 hour rule wouldn't apply because there are people who are just so naturally gifted that they can stomp anyone who isn't as gifted. Same applies to poker to an extent, but at the same time the people putting in the hours are likely to be the ones rising to the top... even if it's not the very very very top.

The Sports Gene sounds interesting, not sure if Gladwell is a "charlatan" though. Never read his book but I was under the impression that only a small portion had to do with sports. Obviously with some things, like sports, the 10,000 hour rule wouldn't apply because there are people who are just so naturally gifted that they can stomp anyone who isn't as gifted. Same applies to poker to an extent, but at the same time the people putting in the hours are likely to be the ones rising to the top... even if it's not the very very very top.

Gladwell has written several books, all in the same style. He takes a small shred of evidence and uses it to jump to a grandiose conclusion about a very complex issue. Rinse, repeat. The 10,000 hour rule is just one of many examples.

I once read an interview with Gladwell in which he essentially said that he doesn't think the readers of his books are smart enough to understand complex issues, so he takes it upon himself to craft easy to follow narratives.

Forgot to mention one other chapter of Sports Gene that I really liked. It was about testosterone levels, De La Chappelle Syndrome, and how it's scientifically impossible to categorize people into a binary sex.

I'm playing golf in a foursome with Rory McIlroy and two other guys I don't know. I think it's a tournament because there's people watching and everyone seems serious about it.

My mom is caddying for me and she's clueless and annoying. We only have one ball and one tee, so I'm really afraid to lose the ball or break the tee. It's the first time I've ever played this course and I have no idea what to expect.

On the first green (par 4) Rory is putting for birdie and misses. Then he gets mad at me and says I was moving during his stroke. I was like whatevs but I was too nervous to say anything. Rory keeps giving me the evil eye for the next few holes. I bogeyed the first hole.

I don't remember exactly what happened on the 2nd hole but it was a par 4 and we all made par.

The 3rd hole was ridic short, the scorecard said 36 yards from the tips, and it's downhill. I took a longass time on the tee but I finally decided to play a bump and run type of thing with a 6 iron. The shot came off perfectly and I made a hole in one. I don't remember what the other guys scored.

The 4th hole was a par 5, 560 yards. I had the honor and I was standing on the tee box. Then I woke up.

2/24/16

It's night time. I'm with my boyfriend, he's tall and skinny with short dark hair, but I never see his face. We're in a big grassy area like a park or something, and we're throwing an ax around. I don't know if we're trying to throw the ax at something specific. The ax has a short handle, like the kiind you'd take on a camping trip. I end up accidentally throwing the ax into the steering wheel of his car, which is a black Dodge Charger. The ax blade goes straight into the center of the steering wheel and gets stuck in it. He's not mad though, we both laugh about it and then fall asleep in the car for a few hours.

In the morning we wake up and he says we have to leave, but he doesn't know if the steering wheel will work. I tell him to be careful. He starts the car and drives slowly at first, and it looks like the steering wheel works fine. The ax is still stuck in it, we never tried to pull it out.

We drive to a mall and we wander around in some nice stores. He buys a few outfits at a Celine store. He puts one of the outfits on, it's mostly white, very modern looking with clean lines, almost androgynous. A classic Phoebe Philo look.

We get back in the car and drive some more. I don't know where we're going. He stops suddenly and points to a grocery store and says they have milk there. So we go into the store and he gets a gallon of milk. Then he goes outside and puts the milk in a shopping cart and starts riding the cart like little kids do, where you stand on the bar that connects the two back wheels and push off with one foot to make it go. I hop on the cart and we ride it around in circles in the parking lot of the store, laughing and bumping into cars. We're so happy.

My dad is standing in front of me, naked. I'm holding a pair of scissors and threatening to cut off his wang. I'm laughing and taunting him, opening the scissors and shoving them against his wang and saying "how bout if I just cut it off you little pussy? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA" My mom is standing a few feet away, and she's kinda rolling her eyes. My dad keeps looking over at her nervously, hoping she'll tell me to stop. He can't do anything to me unless mom says it's ok. He's her little *****. I could cut off his stupid little cock right now and unless mom intervenes or tells me to stop, he'll just stand there and let me cut it off. The ****ing pussy.

Well you've started working out which I think is probably a huge step forward. Also given your therapist trs it seems like you are making a lot of progress towards not dwelling on your issues but tacking them and moving forward.

Ok I think I figured out what's going on, and I talked about it with my therapist today.

My life has been a series of obsessions. One after the other. I always have to have one thing that's wayyyyyy more important than everything else in my life. First it was golf, then poker, then cooking, then making clothes, then when I started having panic attacks it was my mental and physical health.

All I've been doing for the last 2ish years is going to therapy, reading self help/nutrition/fitness books, listening to health podcasts, thinking about my childhood and how it affected me, etc.

I think these obsessions are rooted in a fear of not being the best I could be at something. When I'm interested in something, it takes over my life and I can't think about anything else. I can't have any other hobbies or anything going on. If I'm not being the absolute best I could be at that one thing, then I feel like a failure.

I told my therapist I wish she had a scoreboard on the wall in her office with a ranking of how well all her clients are working on their issues, and I want to be #1. And if I wasn't #1 I'd feel like a loser and want to spend even more time and effort working on my issues.

But in the last few days I've felt my enthusiasm for this self help process waning. I don't know what my next obsession will be, but I can tell it won't be this for much longer.

She said we should work on getting some more balance in my life and being able to have different interests without any one of them taking over my life. Logically, I know that's what a healthy person does, but I don't know if I can do it.

I feel like weightlifting/bodybuilding is the frontrunner for being my next obsession right now.

I'm looking back at my journal from years past. Here are some highlights:

10/10/11

the purpose of life is to suffer

any attempt to circumvent one's suffering will cause greater suffering

the only true feelings are pain, depression, despair, anguish, and torment

happiness, hope, and pleasure are a fantasy for the immature and/or stupid

the more one tries to end suffering with external stimuli, distractions, or intoxicants, the more intense the suffering becomes

the more one tries to grasp for objects and/or other people, the more intense the suffering becomes

5/21/12

Dying is something that should be done alone.

11/1/12

Here I sit in my little corner of hell. It's dark because it's nighttime and I didn't turn on any lights.

I try to avoid interacting with the other inhabitants. Talking to the others only reveals their stupidity, their hang-ups, and their efforts to try to make me feel as miserable as they are.

I'm not trying to say they're all the same. Some are more miserable than others. Some are weaker than others. Most have varying combinations of both. The weak ones spend all their time trying to convince everyone else to think the way they think. The miserable ones spend all their time trying to recruit others into their web of hatred, jealousy, and laziness.

I used to feel awkward around them and try to think of things to say. Now, I don't bother. I don't play their games. I win the game by never making a move.

1/24/13

People are ****. They keep tricking me into joining their ****storm of vapid chit chat.

My life is ****. Actually, it's worse than ****. It's nothing. It's being in a constant state of passive entertainment. Of passing time until it ends. Of waiting for the next distraction.

30 years! Holy ****. I can hardly believe it. How did I survive this? And more importantly, How will I survive another 30 years? Do I even want to? Is that even a goal? The idea that this bull**** is only halfway done, or even less than halfway, is overwhelming.

2/21/13

I feel like I should've escaped when I had the chance, when I was still alive. Why didn't I? Because I had nowhere to go. Would I have survived? If I hadn't survived, would it still have been worth it?

It doesn't matter now. It's a fantasy. Irrelevant. The past, which can't be controlled or influenced in any way. I made a decision which may or may not have been the best one. But that decision can't be revoked or redone.

I stayed. I suffered. It sucked. It sucks. It will suck. Boo ****ing hoo. Live your life. Revenge is an illusion. The memories and feelings won't disappear.

3/16/13

Life is nothing more than a fight against all the forces that wish to make you unhappy. Happiness is the constant rejection, defiance, and sometimes outright hostility towards such forces.

4/1/13

All my fears are so retarded.

5/5/13

Because I want to know what it's like to not want to die.

There's evidence that I care about them. I try to talk and think of things to say so they won't get frightened. Of course, it comes out awkward and forced, because it is awkward and forced. I wasn't always this way, I was made this way. I want to be able to care about them enough to actually listen, to be as interested in them as they are in me. I've been stuck in this prison for so many years. I'm afraid of my own voice.

5/30/13

I used to be afraid of being alone. I used to be afraid to die. I used to think I was destined for happiness. I used to have feelings to give. I used to try.

I used to feel trapped by external things. Now I'm trapped in my own mind.

7/19/13

The goal of existence is not to keep the body alive for as long as possible. It's not to produce more bodies just so those bodies can stay alive as long as possible. The goal is to minimize suffering and maximize happiness.

I somehow managed to go to this place and fill out the application despite a near panic attack. Go me.

I was on the train and some yuppy chick was on her phone telling her friend that she just got off work and now she's "gonna go get a green beer." Then I remembered today is St. Patrick's Day: the day when I'm by far the least proud to be Irish.